As the ear-splitting screeches of a concert crowd echoed through the cramped space of his home, Nam-Gi typed away, eyes darting between the screen of his laptop and the projection his ShowBox was casting into the corner of his bedroom. Well, “bedroom-like space”, more accurately, as it was nearly impossible to qualify any part of his family’s Hive dwelling as a singular “room”. He shook his head as he tried to focus on the story outline he was writing, tapping a finger on the keyboard as he leaned back into his futon.
“Come on,” he sighed to himself, “come on, come on, come on.” He let his head fall backwards, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his gaze back to the concert projection. As a handsome group of six male idols sashayed onto stage, the crowd somehow managed to double their volume, each tween fangirl desperately trying to outdo one another’s intensity. Pulsing lights cast sheets of color across Nam-Gi’s vision in intervals—white, then purple, then gold—as the idols began their first song. “Maybe after their opening number...there’s an attack?” Nam-Gi started typing again, but after a moment, dejectedly backspaced. “Ugh, that’s so cliché,” he groaned, covering his face in his hands. “Okay, maybe the leader’s actually an AI gone rogue? Or like, a space cyborg or something…” He trailed off, sinking further into his futon with another deep sigh. “This is so hopeless,” he muttered to himself, gaze fixated on the six idols performing their signature synchronized dance moves, “I’m never going to be a great writer at this rate.”
Before he had time to wallow in self-pity any further, the flashing lights suddenly ceased as the ShowBox’s projection vanished from sight with a click. His mother’s shrill voice replaced the six-part harmonies previously crooning into his ears as a pair of worn sneakers landed beside him on the futon.
“Nam-Gi, this is the last time I’m going to say it. Put your shoes on, or you’re going to miss the train.”
With an exaggerated eye roll—followed by a curt apology prompted by his father’s disappointed glare—Nam-Gi donned the tattered footwear and hopped to his feet, tucking his ShowBox neatly under the futon and his laptop under his arm before grabbing a jacket and following his parents out the front door. As the family made their way towards the pick-up point, the public transit system slowed to a halt on the border of the Hives, letting out a whistle to alert nearby prospective passengers that it was time to board. Nam-Gi’s mother straightened his blazer and started fixing his hair as she cooed, “Be good, don’t miss your stop this time, and pay attention!” She placed a brief kiss on his forehead before ushering him towards the train. “Take lots of notes, okay?”
His father waved enthusiastically as Nam-Gi stepped aboard, his call of, “Make us proud, son!” muffled by yet another whistle as the transit system hummed to life once more and took off towards the school district.
__
Going anywhere near the education system on a weekend was completely ludicrous to Nam-Gi, but his parents kept insisting that he attended this lecture all week. He knew they were hoping it’d entice him enough to follow the same career paths towards engineering that they had chosen, but he couldn’t care less about that nonsense. He only went to make them stop pestering him about it, and as the transit system buzzed through the upper-class neighborhoods of Neo-Seoul, Nam-Gi’s eyes jumped from skyscraper to skyscraper, each towering pillar of glass and marble topped with luxurious garden spaces. He huffed, turning away from the window. If only he had been born a little richer, then his parents wouldn’t care at all about the “financial stability” of his career choice.
Pulling up to the Hall of Excellent Achievement, the transit system whistled farewell as Nam-Gi hopped off the train and made his way through the maze of gardens and ponds and into the terraced building. He took an elevator to the fifth floor and navigated the halls until he found the presentation room, settling down in one of the back rows of seats. After a steady trickle of other students and young professors filled the remaining seats, the lecturer came out and addressed the room with a tight smile, as if forced enthusiasm would sway the interest of anyone there.
“My name is Soo-Yi, and it’s an honor to be here with you all today,” he said, voice booming. “As both an engineer and one of the lead developers for ChoiTech’s AR Communication programs, I look forward to enlightening you all about the future of personal helpers, AR technology, and the digital era.”
As Soo-Yi droned on, Nam-Gi opened his writing program on his laptop, discreetly brainstorming ideas as the presentation continued. Most of it was incoherent mumbo-jumbo, something about electronics here, something about educational benefits there, but as the lecture took a turn towards upper-class tech trends, Nam-Gi’s interest piqued.
“As you can all see,” the engineer started with a grin, before adding, “or rather, can’t see, there is nothing visible to an outside viewer. However, within my own vision, I have access to all of the files on my home computer, portable computer, and even those scattered across the datascape, thanks to the DigitaScreen. Total privacy in even the most public of locations.”
Nam-Gi’s hand shot into the air, and at the sight of a single person listening, Soo-Yi’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm for the first time in the last hour. “Yes, the boy in the back?” he called, gesturing encouragingly. “Question?”
“Yeah, what happens if that DigitaScreen thing gets into the wrong hands? Like, could someone hide, I dunno, bomb blueprints or top-secret government info in plain sight?”
Soo-Yi hesitated, suddenly disappointed in the lack of seriousness the question held. “Well, I—I suppose so, but they’re currently limited to mostly—”
Nam-Gi waved a hand dismissively, abruptly closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm once again. “Cool, thanks!” he called, pulling his jacket on and hurrying out of the classroom. He made a beeline for the exit of the building, catching the first train back home that he could. Upon arriving, his parents immediately bombarded him with questions.
“How was it, hun? Did you learn anything fun?” his mom cooed.
“Yeah, passionate about engineering yet?” his dad added with a grin.
Kicking off his sneakers and tossing his jacket over the edge of the futon, Nam-Gi hurriedly set up his ShowBox again, keying back into the idol concert as he flung his laptop open and began frantically typing. “No,” he answered, ignoring the immediate disappointed looks his parents gave him, “but I know exactly what I’m going to write my next story about.”
“Come on,” he sighed to himself, “come on, come on, come on.” He let his head fall backwards, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning his gaze back to the concert projection. As a handsome group of six male idols sashayed onto stage, the crowd somehow managed to double their volume, each tween fangirl desperately trying to outdo one another’s intensity. Pulsing lights cast sheets of color across Nam-Gi’s vision in intervals—white, then purple, then gold—as the idols began their first song. “Maybe after their opening number...there’s an attack?” Nam-Gi started typing again, but after a moment, dejectedly backspaced. “Ugh, that’s so cliché,” he groaned, covering his face in his hands. “Okay, maybe the leader’s actually an AI gone rogue? Or like, a space cyborg or something…” He trailed off, sinking further into his futon with another deep sigh. “This is so hopeless,” he muttered to himself, gaze fixated on the six idols performing their signature synchronized dance moves, “I’m never going to be a great writer at this rate.”
Before he had time to wallow in self-pity any further, the flashing lights suddenly ceased as the ShowBox’s projection vanished from sight with a click. His mother’s shrill voice replaced the six-part harmonies previously crooning into his ears as a pair of worn sneakers landed beside him on the futon.
“Nam-Gi, this is the last time I’m going to say it. Put your shoes on, or you’re going to miss the train.”
With an exaggerated eye roll—followed by a curt apology prompted by his father’s disappointed glare—Nam-Gi donned the tattered footwear and hopped to his feet, tucking his ShowBox neatly under the futon and his laptop under his arm before grabbing a jacket and following his parents out the front door. As the family made their way towards the pick-up point, the public transit system slowed to a halt on the border of the Hives, letting out a whistle to alert nearby prospective passengers that it was time to board. Nam-Gi’s mother straightened his blazer and started fixing his hair as she cooed, “Be good, don’t miss your stop this time, and pay attention!” She placed a brief kiss on his forehead before ushering him towards the train. “Take lots of notes, okay?”
His father waved enthusiastically as Nam-Gi stepped aboard, his call of, “Make us proud, son!” muffled by yet another whistle as the transit system hummed to life once more and took off towards the school district.
__
Going anywhere near the education system on a weekend was completely ludicrous to Nam-Gi, but his parents kept insisting that he attended this lecture all week. He knew they were hoping it’d entice him enough to follow the same career paths towards engineering that they had chosen, but he couldn’t care less about that nonsense. He only went to make them stop pestering him about it, and as the transit system buzzed through the upper-class neighborhoods of Neo-Seoul, Nam-Gi’s eyes jumped from skyscraper to skyscraper, each towering pillar of glass and marble topped with luxurious garden spaces. He huffed, turning away from the window. If only he had been born a little richer, then his parents wouldn’t care at all about the “financial stability” of his career choice.
Pulling up to the Hall of Excellent Achievement, the transit system whistled farewell as Nam-Gi hopped off the train and made his way through the maze of gardens and ponds and into the terraced building. He took an elevator to the fifth floor and navigated the halls until he found the presentation room, settling down in one of the back rows of seats. After a steady trickle of other students and young professors filled the remaining seats, the lecturer came out and addressed the room with a tight smile, as if forced enthusiasm would sway the interest of anyone there.
“My name is Soo-Yi, and it’s an honor to be here with you all today,” he said, voice booming. “As both an engineer and one of the lead developers for ChoiTech’s AR Communication programs, I look forward to enlightening you all about the future of personal helpers, AR technology, and the digital era.”
As Soo-Yi droned on, Nam-Gi opened his writing program on his laptop, discreetly brainstorming ideas as the presentation continued. Most of it was incoherent mumbo-jumbo, something about electronics here, something about educational benefits there, but as the lecture took a turn towards upper-class tech trends, Nam-Gi’s interest piqued.
“As you can all see,” the engineer started with a grin, before adding, “or rather, can’t see, there is nothing visible to an outside viewer. However, within my own vision, I have access to all of the files on my home computer, portable computer, and even those scattered across the datascape, thanks to the DigitaScreen. Total privacy in even the most public of locations.”
Nam-Gi’s hand shot into the air, and at the sight of a single person listening, Soo-Yi’s face lit up with genuine enthusiasm for the first time in the last hour. “Yes, the boy in the back?” he called, gesturing encouragingly. “Question?”
“Yeah, what happens if that DigitaScreen thing gets into the wrong hands? Like, could someone hide, I dunno, bomb blueprints or top-secret government info in plain sight?”
Soo-Yi hesitated, suddenly disappointed in the lack of seriousness the question held. “Well, I—I suppose so, but they’re currently limited to mostly—”
Nam-Gi waved a hand dismissively, abruptly closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm once again. “Cool, thanks!” he called, pulling his jacket on and hurrying out of the classroom. He made a beeline for the exit of the building, catching the first train back home that he could. Upon arriving, his parents immediately bombarded him with questions.
“How was it, hun? Did you learn anything fun?” his mom cooed.
“Yeah, passionate about engineering yet?” his dad added with a grin.
Kicking off his sneakers and tossing his jacket over the edge of the futon, Nam-Gi hurriedly set up his ShowBox again, keying back into the idol concert as he flung his laptop open and began frantically typing. “No,” he answered, ignoring the immediate disappointed looks his parents gave him, “but I know exactly what I’m going to write my next story about.”